God bless little boys and frogs.

Yes, I know it's an odd topic for a writer, but let me explain. My grandson, who is five going on six is infatuated with nature. He enjoys going fishing whether its in the dog bowl or with his daddy on the boat. If its sunny, he's outside playing, observing, cataloging information about life because at five the world is his oyster.

So when my daughter heard him talking the other evening her own curiosity drew her to the door that opened onto their back patio. There crouched close to the ground, his head bent with a look of deep concentration on his little face. Her gaze drifted, following his line of vision, to the ground where a big green frog sat staring back.

I know she had to have smiled. Perhaps even stifled a giggle that threatened to emerge as he urged the creature to follow him. Rising, he tugged on the end of the string that he somehow managed to tie around the frogs slender leg. "Come on, follow me." and according to her, he gave a little tug. The animal had no choice but the follow. She said she watched for a few moments enjoying the sheer determination of the child to get his 'new pet' to follow and the determination of said 'pet' to not.

Finally, she announced her presence and came outside to sit on the steps. The conversation that followed, were deep ones explaining the fact that all wild creatures must be free to follow the plan, the call of life. If he would let the frog go, then he would be doing nature a deep service because frogs help keep the mosquitoes down. I can imagine the look of surprise that turned to disappointment as she got him to agree and he knelt down and untied his 'leash'. Now free, the amphibian disappeared into the green of the grass and my little one went in to wash his hands.

Later that night, after bath and a story, he was tucked into bed ready to dream what wonderful dreams come to the young of flying ships, western plains, and horizons we can not see because our eyes have been limited by life. As my daughter cut out the light, she heard a sound just outside his window. A deep vibrating ribbit that was answered by another. Sleepily, the little head turned. "Good night, froggie," he whispered.

Now, every night before sleep, he calls out to his new found friend, who lies beneath his open window and sings him to sleep blessed by the wisdom of my daughter and the imagination of a little boy going on six.